Father and Son
by Quigonjecca
Summary: Will and his father have been sailing the Flying Dutchman together for two years. This is just one of their many encounters ferrying souls over into the Other Realm.


Wind blew softly through the sails of _The Flying Dutchman. _No gulls flew overhead; no fish suddenly leaped from the water. In fact, save for the soft lapping of languid waves against the ship's wooden hull, there was no sound at all.

Silence.

Bootstrap sighed, running a hand through his stringy hair. Silence was a sound he was becoming all too accustomed to. When he had decided to accompany his son on his journey to the Netherworld, he had not expected to be met with a silent wall.

Grant you, Will did speak. When prompted he joked and laughed; at the correct moments he smiled. But none of the liveliness ever quite reached his eyes. The light seemed to fade into a much darker burden that stretched through his shoulders, making them droop, and reached his feet, causing them to drag a bit along the deck.

Even now, he stood at the wheel, eyes unfocused, and hands sitting still on the wood. He wasn't moving; he didn't even appear to be breathing. However, Will's mouth was moving, as in a silent prayer, murmuring words that Bootstrap couldn't understand, and wasn't sure he really wanted to.

"You know," Bootstrap said, finally rising from his vantage point. "You used to talk a lot more."

It took a moment. Will blinked a few times, stopped his whispering and looked blankly at his father. Then he gave one of those half-smiles. "I just have more to think about now."

"Oh yes—like, how beautiful the waves are, compared to yesterday?" Bootstrap interjected with dry sarcasm.

"Hmmm…" Will hummed, gazing over the horizon. "Yes… I mean," He shook his head. "No. I meant no."

Bootstrap laughed, walking over and clapping his son on the back. "I'm just playing with you, Will."

"Yes, I know."

And silence once again engulfed the ship.

"What do you hear?" Bootstrap asked as Will once again resumed his mutterings.

"I hear voices," Will said hoarsely. "Many voices. There has been a battle fought today. They're calling for passage to the Other Realm." He gulped.

Bootstrap's eyes widened. "Is that what you hear?" He almost could have laughed. "For two years, Will, I've tried to figure out what you do when you're just staring out into nothing. Listening to dead folk!" He harrumphed.

Will laughed—actually more of a chuckle—but it was more than Bootstrap had heard in the last six months.

Bill chuckled along. "I guess they're more interesting than I am, eh?"

"Not quite," Will relented, although it was tempting to keep the light banter going. "I hear them, and it's… strange. They are ready to go, but they cannot be at peace until we come to ferry them over."

Bootstrap leaned on the railing. "Well, how do you know where they are?"

"I… don't know." Will managed at last. "But I do know where they are—and these are not far away now."

"And I suppose that's why you don't ever use a compass?" Bootstrap mused.

"I don't use my compass?" Will asked, turning to his father with a thoroughly confused expression.

Bootstrap laughed. "No—never."

"Huh," Will went back to steering the wheel. "I didn't realize that."

"So… are we there yet?"

"What do you think?" Will barked.

"I dunno." Bootstrap shrugged. "How do you know when we're there?"

"I just will."

"Sure you will."

"Have I gotten us lost yet?" Will challenged.

"Well… no…" Bootstrap was forced to admit. "But, all the same. We can't technically get lost, can we?"

"I don't know." Will shrugged. "Do you want me to try?"

"No, no, no." He chuckled. "I think I'd—"

Bootstrap was cut off when Will lurched towards the wheel. Bootstrap had his hands on his son's shoulders in an instant, pulling him up.

"Will? Will, what's going on?"

Will pulled back with a gasp. "I'm sorry I just... I… I felt something, is all."

Bootstrap frowned.

"Many deaths." Will said slowly, painfully. "I've never… felt this many."

"Now you mean to tell me that you feel everyone that dies at sea?"

Will grinned sheepishly, before lurching again. "I'll be fine," He said. "Honestly father, as soon as we get there, and get them on board, I'll be fine."

"I'm not so sure about that—" Bootstrap caught his son as he stumbled away from the wheel.

"How about you steer?" Will said, taking a deep breath and sitting down on a barrel. "I'll just tell you where to go, and you can get us there."

Bootstrap looked uncertainly at his son. "Alright," he said. "You just sit down, and we'll get there."

Will closed his eyes. "Starboard," he whispered.

"What?"

"I said hard to starboard!" Will's eyes popped open.

Bootstrap tugged violently at the wheel. "Alright, alright!" He exclaimed. "Just give me some more warning next time."

"Sorry," Will answered, relaxing again. "I don't get much warning myself on these… feelings."

"And where do we go now?"

Will rubbed his forehead. "A little… East. East, I'd say."

"Then East it is."

In the next half-hour, Will settled more and more into himself, only speaking enough to whisper where his father needed to go. Bootstrap followed the instructions faithfully, all the while keeping one wary eye on his seemingly ill son.

Suddenly Will stood up. "We're here." He said clearly and steadily.

"Here?" Bootstrap looked around, frowning. "Where exactly is 'here'?" He demanded

"Just trust me." Will involuntarily shivered. "There's been some sort of wreck around here. Just start looking for the debris."

Soon enough, pieces of broken ship started drifting lazily by. Will took a deep breath. "It was three ships." He said in a hoarse whisper.

"How do you—" Bootstrap shook his head. "Never mind, I'm not even going to ask."

"Everyone died." Will said, eyes squinting into the horizon. "Every last one of them."

"Pirates?"

"No—travelers. Families—husbands, wives, children—all of them."

Will stumbled back again. "Let's get them on board." He wheezed. "The sooner they start boarding, the sooner I feel better."

Bootstrap patted him on the back as he sighted the first soul drifting alongside it's wayward body. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"You know, I ought to thank you," Will said suddenly. "I think I might go insane out here without someone to help me out, and someone to talk to."

Bootstrap winked. "Nah," he said certainly. "You get to talk to all these friends of yours—they've got to be more interesting than your old man!"

Will leaned down over the railing, and reached out his hand. As the wayward body floated away, the soul escaped and groped for Will's fingers.

It whispered to him, "I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid." Will whispered back, beginning to make out the features of a young boy. "I'm Will Turner, and this is my father Bootstrap." He smiled as brightly as he could muster. "We're going to be your tour guides on this little vacation."

The boy didn't seem pleased. "Where's Mary?"

"Is that your sister?" Will guessed.

The boy nodded.

"She'll be coming." Will said surely. "I promise."

Hesitantly, the boy started climbing up Will's arms. "That's it… easy…" Will held him there. The poor soul couldn't have been older than five years. "Now," he said gently. "Why don't we find your sister, and a blanket?"

"Okay," The boy whispered, snuggling into Will's shoulder.

Will blinked. "Alright, just don't be afraid."


End file.
